


Leopard Skin Sofa

by Soulstarsinger (soulstar)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Bloodlust, Dark Comedy, F/M, Introspection, Jossed, London, POV First Person, Post-Season/Series 03 AU, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-08-16
Updated: 1999-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-08 14:03:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1943913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulstar/pseuds/Soulstarsinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike is visiting his home town as he tries to avoid returning to Sunnydale a little longer, when he has an unexpected encounter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leopard Skin Sofa

**Author's Note:**

> This all started with me wandering round Leicester Square by myself one evening. Then the quote popped into my head, and I wondered what Spike would think of it all. It was supposed to be a very short, cheery fic about Spike visiting London, with no real point to it at all. However, what my fingers typed was quite different to what was in my head, and I had a bit of trouble reconciling the two. Got there in the end though, and this is the result.
> 
> SPOILERS: BtVS episodes "Becoming" and "Lover's Walk" (a tiny bit). Written from rumours / speculation of Season 4 from before the season aired. Star Wars I: The Phantom Menace.  
> DISCLAIMER: All things Buffy belong to Joss, all the real people belong to themselves, Star Wars belongs to George Lucas. No leopards were harmed in the writing of this fic. Fake fur, dammit! The plot would belong to me, but there isn't one.

"Goodbye Piccadilly, farewell Leicester-bloody-Square."

For some reason, my own words, spoken to the Slayer over a year ago have come back to haunt me. The world had been saved, and I hadn't given it another thought. Of course, I'd been taken up with the whole mess with Dru after we left dear old Sunnyhell. But even once I'd pulled myself together, caught up with her and...ah... made her see reason (yeah, good memories there!), even then I had no reason to think of the old homeland. Til now. It's a funny thing. I wasn't bothered about seeing London again, as long as I knew it was all still there, and I could pop over whenever I wanted. It had to change, didn't it? I was quite happy as I was, I had Dru back, and we were causing mayhem and carnage on a modest scale, at least. But then that damn demon, Whistler I think he said his name was, turns up and spoils my fun. Tells me it's my inescapable fate to go back and help the Slayer. Yeah right.

By now though, I've no choice but to believe him. No choice but to go back. Doesn't mean I like it though. Bloody curses. And bloody smart-arse demons too. But just cos I can't avoid it, doesn't mean I can't put it off for as long as possible. I suppose I should be happy I haven't been turned into some brooding soul-boy. No, I'm still all demon. Albeit one who's cursed to be all buddy-buddy with his mortal enemy. Dru's pretty pissed off too. She doesn't want to go at all. She reckons she'll find a place nearby and I can visit her. Well that's just bloody marvellous, isn't it? Someone out there has a great sense of humour with these curses. Must remember to rip his head off if I ever meet him....

It was Dru saying that that brought it home to me - I was going to be stuck in Sunnydale. No more going wherever I wanted to. And then I remembered what I'd said to the Slayer. So here I am. Home. And alone, since Dru is still sulking over the whole thing. I may as well have a holiday before my bizarre penance begins.

So here I am. 11pm on a Sunday evening in Leicester Square. It's late July, and the weather is actually quite balmy for a change. Not that it makes a lot of difference to me. I haven't been here for...what?...30 years, near enough. No, make that 25. Dru doesn't really like London. It upsets her - reminds her of when she was mortal, and it frightens her because it's changed. She prefers mainland Europe. Especially the eastern side. I love it here though. I revel in the dirt and noise of the modern city.

Yesterday I went pubbing and clubbing, met a nice girl, laughed and drank and danced before I killed her. I don't know what she'd been on, but it made me so hyper I ripped the throats out of a couple pimps and several winos before I calmed down. That was fun. And it even got on the news - Wild animal attack! Good thing the Slayer's not about....

On Friday I'd walked along the Embankment just after dusk, watching the hundreds of suited men and women who overflowed from the many riverside pubs. I'd decided to get a little practice in for when I went back to Sunnyhell - presumably the Slayer wasn't going to be keen on me eating her mates, or anyone in the damn town. So, I moved from pub to pub, feeding a little here and there. It's amazing what you can get away with in a crowded room. Even the victims I chose had no idea what was going on. Daft buggers. After a few hours though, I got sick of it. So I homed in on the most annoying bloke I could find, and followed him at closing time. He screamed when I slammed him against the wall, then whimpered when he saw my face. It was a beautiful sound, but not as satisfying as the crunch-crack the bones in his neck made as I snapped it. I felt better after that. I always do.

But today I feel detached for some reason. Leicester Square is still crowded - pub kicking out time was officially ten minutes ago, but it's a nice night and a lot of places are still open. I'm right in the middle of the crowd, surrounded by a smorgasbord of humanity, an all-you-can-eat buffet. Tourists mix with the locals, and large groups of foreign exchange students shriek and babble in their various languages. I understand it all. I've been around. And I prowl through them, the perfect predator because they never know what I am, never see me coming. Well, almost never. Those that do realise, run. Not that that does them any good. I enjoy the chase.

A man brushes past me. I imagine my trenchcoat is made of something dark and evil instead of leather, and that it's expanding, swallowing him and everyone else here as they scream in terror.... OK, I've been spending _way_ to much time with Dru. This isn't like me at all. It must be the damn curse getting me down. I need a drink. Damn, I think I'm brooding. That's not good. Don't want to turn into bloody Angelus, the grand high poofter.

A girl, dressed all in black, weaves her way through the crowds. Her firey copper-coloured hair catches my attention. I begin to move to intercept her. She's tall, at least my height, and her skin is extremely fair. I feel a sudden violent desire to hurt her, to see red blood flow down that pale skin. But as I draw near her she looks up and catches my eye. It startles me. Then she gives me a curious half-smile, and while I'm standing there blinking like an idiot, she has moved on. I turn to watch her. She makes her way over to Pizza Hut, and greets a group sitting at an outside table. They're all obviously pleased to see her. I wish Dru was here with me. Still, when I get to Sunnydale, I'll have the Slayer and her mates. Oh, hang on a minute! What am I thinking? I _really_ need a drink. Or twenty. Cos I actually meant it. I'm looking forward to going back there. Like they'd accept me into their little group anyway. But if they could put up with Angel.... I've just got a feeling I'm gonna fit right in. At least now I know why my demon's been so pissed off recently. Not only am I cursed to help the Slayer - I actually want to. How ironic.

Still, at least I'm feeling a bit cheerier now I know what the problem is. The atmosphere of the place is beginning to seep through to me, and I become aware of the laughter in the voices around me. On my right are a series of tiny stalls - temporary tattoos, street artists, and a couple that announced that they could print your name on a grain of rice. What the hell is the point of that?! I snort to myself. I wonder if they could fit "William the Bloody" in. For a minute I consider having my portrait done as a gift for Dru. They're all busy though, and I can't be bothered to wait. I'll come back another night. I stroll onwards. There are a couple of homeless men in sleeping bags by the phone boxes. I think I might come back for them later if I get the chance. When it's a lot quieter. But for now, I think I'll go down to the river.

I walk towards the blue neon fronted Odeon cinema. A massive Star Wars Episode One advert is plastered across the building. Of course, it's just come out here. I'd already seen it in the States a couple of months ago. Saw it one and a half times actually. First time was with Dru. She bounced and squealed all the way through the fight scenes and the pod race, but completely went into one when Darth Maul got offed. Had to carry her out in the end. I thought it was funny. The manager didn't.

There are less people on this side of the square, so I speed up my pace. As I head in the general direction of the river I ponder why the hell I'm suddenly so keen on joining the Slayer's little band. Or maybe it wasn't so sudden. After all, that Slayer's bloody good , and fighting alongside her would keep me alive longer than fighting against her. We worked well enough together before. Not to mention that I'm guaranteed plenty of good old fashioned violence. Not such a bad deal after all.

I pass a small market place, surrounded by iron railings, the stalls covered by bright red and white striped material. Part of me wonders idly what they sell there. Probably tourist tack. I'm so caught up in my thoughts that I don't notice I've hit The Strand, right opposite Charing Cross station. So I step out into the road without looking, and nearly get run down. By two blokes in leather flying helmets and goggles, driving a leopard skin sofa. I jump back just in time for the coffee table that's stuck on the front to miss my legs and stare after them as they shoot off, a standard lamp sticking out of the backrest behind them. Still standing in the middle of the road, shocked out of my deep thoughts, I begin to laugh, shaking my head. Only in London.... It's good to be home.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, that last paragraph was a thing that really happened. Not to Spike, obviously. I was lucky it wasn't a more deadly vehicle! Still makes me grin to remember it.


End file.
